


yours since 1898, C.C.

by lindsey_grissom



Series: Ring ‘Verse [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Sort Of, canon AU, it could have happened after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 15:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: There is a ring in Mr Carson’s pocket that doesn’t belong to him, it hasn’t since he bought it.





	yours since 1898, C.C.

It’s a simple thing, really. Gold with a silver filigree line woven through the middle.

She wouldn’t want anything too complex, doesn’t require diamonds and jewels, stones cut in the latest style.

But he could not have picked a plain gold ring either, because for all that she is a woman with simple tastes, there is a mystery to her, an intelligence so fierce she often leaves him trailing behind grasping at the trails of her intuition and insight. 

Her ring should reflect that, he thinks.

And it is her ring. From the moment it caught his eye in London; catching the winter sunlight and sparkling, drew him to the window and through the door before he had even given thought himself to how he felt for her, he had known this ring belonged to her. 

He came back from His Lordship’s visit with it in the pocket of his waistcoat, and besides switching it from garment to garment it has remained there through all these years, just as she has remained at his side.

He had meant to present it to her that Christmas, had speeches and gestures planned, words he thought she might like to hear, others he could hardly contain. 

He had dreams of her leaving service, believed His Lordship might permit his first footman to marry if he in turn believed that Charles’s devotion to the family would not wane. 

But upon his return, Mr Blakely had pulled him aside and told him of his plans to retire before the next summer, that he had spoken with His Lordship and they both agreed that Charles would make a fine replacement. It was all arranged and he was not to worry, Mr Blakely would have him trained up with plenty of time to spare, after all, hadn’t he been working towards this since he returned to service?

{He had sought her out that evening, watched her ferry the other maids off to bed, fetch old Mrs Whitely a pot of tea and take the account books with her back to the servants’ hall to work on. 

If he was being groomed to be Butler, then she was being trained to become Housekeeper. She would be an outstanding Housekeeper, he thought, already she cared so much for the staff, did everything she could to ensure the house ran smoothly.

She met his eyes across the table as he sat, smiled brightly at him and said; “Welcome home, Mr Carson.”

He fiddled with the ring in his pocket, returned her smile. “Thank you, Miss Hughes. It’s good to be back.”}

They had been right, of course; His Lordship and Mr Blakely. Butler is a high honour, and to be Butler of a great estate such as Downton — there are few things that can surpass it. {He thinks though, that he might know of one.}

Still he wonders, has wondered as the years have passed, as they have remained here, side-by-side, what might have been if he had only pulled her ring from his pocket and slid it across the table to her that night.

Might they have children now? Expect grandchildren in a year or two’s time? Would she have excelled as a mother and wife as she has as Housekeeper? 

He thinks so, can’t imagine her settling for anything less.

It has become a talisman of sorts, her ring. He will, when it feels as though very little in his world makes sense, when the changes seem too large for him to weather, press his hand against the small weight in his pocket, brush his fingers and palm across the lines of it, feel for it and calm. She has not faltered from his side and he draws comfort from knowing that she, at least, remains steady in an ever shifting world.

Sometimes, though, he will pull it out and imagine placing it on her finger.

He held it in his hand long after she had retired to bed, the night she told him of Joe Burns. Heard her voice in his mind; _‘do you ever wish you’d gone another way?’_ as his fingers closed in a fist around it.

He took to wearing it himself at night, alone in his bed while phrases like _'so it is cancer then’_ and _'she’s sick’_ and _'I might lose her’_ chased him towards restless sleep. {And he thinks, if she had told him herself, told him any if it, he might have been unable to keep her ring with him any longer, might have pressed it into her hand, have held her close and told her that no matter what, she would never have been alone.}

And now it rests again in his waistcoat pocket, only he feels its days there now are numbered. Now that he can take her hand when everything is unsteady —something he imagines might work far better than her ring ever has. 

Mrs Patmore is purchasing a property and considering her retirement in a few years. Thomas is as trained as he could ever be, although even Mr Mosley might be a better choice given how few people Mr Barrow has earned the respect of. And she has Anna or Miss Baxter to follow on from her, if she wishes.

Lady Edith has left the House, run away and he will tell her that and then…

He brushes his hand over his waistcoat pocket, feels it resting there. 

…and then he will suggest they look at property. That perhaps they could invest together in something before they retire. He has no doubt that she feels some measure of care for him, but that she might _love_ him, he is still unsure. He thinks perhaps her reaction to his propos— ah, _suggestion_ might put him on more even ground.

And one day, if he is as lucky a man as he believes himself to be, she might learn of the inscription written into the underside of her ring. 

Might know for just how long he has considered her as dear to him as a beloved wife. 


End file.
